


Setting Embers Aflame ( They say love is friendship caught on Fire )

by Washedawaycloud



Series: Midnight Rising [1]
Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Drinking & Talking, Drinking to Cope, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Gen, Grief, Heavy Drinking, Male-Female Friendship, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Past Character Death, Past Relationship(s), Running, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Space Pirates, Talking Trees, Telepathic trees, Time Travel, past timepetals, pre Anniversary episode, space travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-29
Updated: 2020-11-29
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:28:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27776884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Washedawaycloud/pseuds/Washedawaycloud
Summary: When The Corsair met Thirteen, they had no idea what the Doctor had done, had been through. They just went on their adventure, as they always had, and swanned off into the sunset. But, meeting the Tenth Doctor, will change the trajectory of The Corsair's timeline until its very end.
Relationships: The Corsair & The Doctor, The Corsair/Tenth Doctor, The Doctor (Doctor Who)/Rose Tyler, The Doctor/Rose Tyler (past)
Series: Midnight Rising [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2032051
Kudos: 2





	Setting Embers Aflame ( They say love is friendship caught on Fire )

**Author's Note:**

  * For [midnightstrong](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=midnightstrong).



> So this is a tribute work to one of my lost friends. Lost because I lost them, in a very Doctor-y fashion to be honest. I name Midnight ( as I shall call them ) as a co-creator as well as gift it to them because we wrote this story together on Tumblr almost ten bloody years ago. It's been 7 years, 7! Insanity. But this is for them because I miss them terribly and I miss the writing we did together. Obviously, the story is not verbatim but a refinement, consolidation and streamlining. 
> 
> No beta, we post and die with our mistakes like women here. 
> 
> I own nothing, except my excessive amounts of headcanon work on the Corsair. References to the Comics, Big Finish Audios, and TV show belong to the BBC, (and the Corsair to Neil Gaiman ) and I own none of it, nor, sadly, am I affiliated with the writers/showrunners in any way/shape/form. Perhaps one day that may change, in a different universe.

The Corsair was having a bit of a time, getting her old boy, Eosphoros to cooperate with her. He was a gorgeous ship, of course, he was, he was hers, but ever since the dry docks ‘upgraded’ his operating systems to Type 70 from Type 50, they’d been having a bit of a navigation problem. Oh, the old boy could and did get her where she wanted to go, but sometimes they were taken places neither of them desired to be. A frustrating and mysterious set of circumstances to be sure.

Currently, she was adrift in the Vortex, the best place to attempt a coding repair of this magnitude. It’s been three weeks, and the pair of them haven’t had a shred of luck. Her forehead rests against the time rotor, where the ethereal Gallifreyan personification of her TARDIS stares out.

“This is ridiculous. Never should have let them touch you, my darling boy.” The hum that floods her mind makes her laugh. Of course, he would agree. “Yes, yes, only I should be allowed in those glorious circuits of yours. It won’t happen again. Promise.”

A soft chime fills the frankly beautiful console room, all deep cherry wood paneling like any ship should have, decadent rugs from across the cosmos and time littering the floor, plus chairs, a bookcase just off to the side, stairs to an upper level that led to all but the galley, which stayed just off the console room at the ‘back’ of the TARDIS. Back, of course, being relative.

“I’m not having you go all wibbly on me if we both check the coordinates and then get tossed somewhere else love.” She sighs and leans against the console a bit. “What to do, what to do.” Her teeth worry her lip, and she lights on an idea, the Doctor.

She hadn’t seen them in what half a millennium now, all that blonde and brumy wonderfulness, she should pay them a visit. And their friends, if they still had their friends about, that is. Yes. That’s what she’d do, a visit to her now older than her friend. Delightful.

Her capsule makes a hum of agreement, they always had adventures with the Doctor and the Doctor is a bit of a soft touch when it comes to Temporal Mechanics. That last bit makes the Corsair eye her console carefully. “Excuse you, one would almost think we hadn’t been together for three bloody millennia, and you preferred _their_ hands to _mine!”_ Thoroughly offended, she types in the command sequence to locate and track the type 40 beauty and lets the old boy do the rest. Heading above deck, she takes in the sights, noting how incredibly quiet the Vortex has been of late.

Time was, she could see the trails, at least, of Time Capsule travel, now she doesn’t even see echoes. Odd, well, not completely, she’d heard some rumbling rumors, Daleks, and such. Yes, maybe Mother Gallifrey was hiding. Wouldn’t be the first time, likely not the last.

The infamous blue box looms ahead and she grins. Still, a box, would they never fix that damned chameleon circuit? Though, there is a bit of charm to how innocuous Blue is like this. Odd, but ultimately, she could hide in plain sight.

Eosphoros sidles up to the other Time Capsule, and the Corsair takes a walk. She raps her knuckles against the TARDIS’ doors, feet firmly on the gangplank the old boy has provided her. Letting down a few of the outermost protections of her mind, she feels for a mind she’s met several times. All she feels, however, is the chill of space until the great blue doors open.

He is a He again, and it makes her blink, thrown off by how quickly the scamp tends to regenerate. It’s been half a millennium since she saw them last. Gone was blonde and brumy with all the enthusiasm of a young Tot seeing the universe for the first time. Standing in front of her, he’s tentative, the smile only half as bright as it usually is, eyes guarded, without recognition.

“Hello.” No more northern accent that had given her a bit of a thrill last time she saw them. Now it’s a bit posh, very London.

Her head tilts, mind swirling as she lets her lips curl into a mischievous, nay, naughty smile. “Changed again since last we met. Which body is this one?” Her earrings, long things, just metal though, jangle as she edges nearer the warmth of the door, green eyes sparkling. “I’ll bet my boat you don’t remember me.”

She honestly should be used to this sort of thing, what with the fact she hardly ever stays put in one place for long. It’s difficult for her to connect with people now, even her friends, perhaps especially her friends. Better to be alone, than to love and lose. She almost misses the way he squints at her, clearly attempting to place her face. Why doesn’t he reach out, as any _normal_ Gallifreyan would? She doesn’t push her mind against his because that’s just rude, it would be more than a gentle hello to get him to notice.

He does, however, step aside, allowing for her to come into the TARDIS. When she does, it’s as he speaks. “Sorry,” voice flat, bleak, and that’s so strange. “Tenth face,” he explains, giving a sweeping gesture, “and if you’ve got that boat, you’d be holding onto it because I can’t place you at all. Again, sorry.”

Sorry seems to be such a familiar word to this Doctor, this version of her friend who so very rarely wasn’t sure of himself. Yet now he apologizes at the drop of a hat? She forces a laugh, waving him off, making merry when she’s feeling like sinking. “You’ve always been such a polite tot if a bit shaky in the memory department. My boat doesn’t need holding, he’ll never wander far, loves me far, far too much.”

She peaks around him, eyes taking in an entirely different TARDIS layout from what she remembered. “Tenth face, yeah? I’ve only regenerated _once_ since that last jail cell, of a fashion.”

Confusion radiates off him, and honestly, how does he not reach for her mind? It’s right there, shields lowered to an acceptable level for him to do so. Instead, he’s welcoming her in.

“Now, hang on, regenerated, jail cell? Who _are_ you?” His face, those big brown eyes, look a bit distraught, like he feels terrible for forgetting. As if the lot of them didn’t have to forget things at times. Her boots clack on the grating of the entry ramp. The Old Girl, or perhaps she is younger now, sings soft welcome. She has a different tenor, more life, in her than before. Far less cobbled together. What had they been repairing her with anyway?

“Oh, lad, really? You must be getting old, it’s me, doll, the Corsair – “

“But how?!” His eyes are wide, so wide, and she realizes he doesn’t remember their adventure at all. Which means, oh they’d broken about a half dozen laws of time. She feels his mind, the gentlest brush along hers, a fleeting silver-blue before a grin breaks out onto his face. His eyes lock onto her face, search over her, and land on her shoulder, slightly exposed. “I thought… Never mind what I thought.”

Worry tinges her mind, but he keeps going. “What have you been up to?”

She debates for a moment, reminding, no, telling him about the whale, but decides against it. When she’d seen them last, they had no memory of that face or this one to her knowledge. Best not complicate an already out of order timeline.

“Got sent on a boring survey run, I was just coming out of a Stellar Nursery, few thousand decades from the Andromeda galaxy when the old boy started to fuss a bit. He needs a bit of a repair, but we don’t want to go see the Time Technicians, you know how they are. We decided to come for a visit with your girl, and you, instead.” She waves her hand toward the door, eyes sparkling. “What about you then, stirring up the usual trouble, I hope?”

“Well,” a single world held in a drawl as only he can seemingly do. In all the incarnations she’s met of the Doctor, they do love the way words roll around their mouth. “I’ve been here, there, and all over. Wouldn’t _exactly_ say I’m stirring up trouble so much as I try to put out the fire these days. I was just working on some repairs. Then planning on visiting an old friend.”

His eyes land on her, searching. “How long has it been?”

Her eyes become unfocused, running down the years since she’d seen him linearly, a him that he would remember. Fourth face if she recalled correctly. She wasn’t sure what face the blonde brumy was. She hadn’t the chance to ask, to compare where they were in their timestreams. She should have, she’s kicking herself now. “Well, let’s see, I did get stuck in one of those terrible negative space pockets for a bit; and then that job was a decade or so…” She adds the time together between four and blonde and laughs a bit. “I’d say a full thousand years actually.”

Now her eyes turn serious, narrowing, arms crossing. “Putting out fires, that sounds right, but something’s off. Usually, you’re toppling regimes, saving whales, dancing with pepper pots, and pissing off tin cans,” her tone is light, teasing, softening the hard edge of her accent.

He nods, that cockatoo hair of his barely swaying with the slow movement. “Well, used to,” he replies casually, “a while back. And well, yeah, I still do a bit.” His shoulders hitch, and she notices that he is slouching a bit, he’s taller than he seems. “When it comes down to it, there are bigger things than me, causing far more trouble than I like to see happening. I suppose it’s my fault, having gone and gotten attached to an entire species, but what can you do?” That lackadaisical, slightly manic grin lights on his face while he turns toward the console, ambling up the ramp and crouching down to attend a mess of wires that have been pulled free from an aperture.

“So Earth’s been having more than its fair share of fun,” her statement is quiet as she follows after him, looking around curiously, green eyes finally landing on him and the wires after a solid once over of the console room. The exposed nature of this capsule is akin to a freshly augmented Coral, not even close to the Doctor’s usual aesthetic. Years of medical white from what she’s heard whispers of, then a bit of a gothic phase, and oh how the rumors had run during _those_ years about him. Then the console room she had seen herself, a bit broken, very raw. This was, well, both this and that other one was so strange, so out of the norm, especially the mess that’s been made of the console itself. She can’t help but say as much.

“You need to take your girl in for a once over, Lad.”

She doesn’t expect how he bristles; how sharp he is with her. “I can handle her just fine, _thanks_.” Her eyes are wide. What was that? Where had that come from?

The truth of the matter is, the Doctor knows he can handle his TARDIS as is, for the most part, a few hiccups here and there. But really, where was he _supposed_ to take her for a Tune-up? There weren’t any Time Docks to retreat to, no excess of spare parts to be lovingly placed where they ought to go.

Still, he can see her shock. Those green eyes of hers, harkening back to their first life, love for their guardian no doubt. He heard the stories, some from them, about how they had adored their guardians. He deflates. One of his last living Gallifreyan friends and he was being a bit of a twat.

“Sorry,” he mutters. “Get protective of the old girl, is all.” Pushing himself to his feet, he notes how small this Corsair is to the one he only vaguely remembers from his years as four. They’d been rather large in that life, and very male. This Corsair has a waterfall of dark curls, so dark they seem to be tinged red, big green eyes, and she’s just so slender, so short! Short but clearly full of fire still.

Her lips purse, blood-red paint on them, and her hip cocks out to the side, a fist resting on it. “Don’t get your panties in a twist, I was just making a comment!”

Leaning against the console he can make more of a study of her, noting the heeled boots that give her a few extra inches, no hat this time around, a vest that is no doubt well lined to keep swords or bullets from penetrating it. “You look good,” the words are out suddenly, an attempt to steer the conversation into safer waters. 

She is not to be deterred, however, clearly as she nods her head at the console, eyes wary as she forms her next words. “Looks like you’ve had a rough time of it lately, you and this lovely girl.” But just as Mercurial as he had ever been, she drops the subject, and he thanks the Other for that.

“Thanks, lad. I must say, you’re rather pretty this time around. Though, whatever happened to the question marks, they were quite fetching,” there’s a teasing lilt to her voice and he finds himself a touch flustered.

“Thank you,” a huff of a laugh leaves him, and he ducks his head, arms coming up so he can brush along the bridge of his nose with his thumb. “Got a bit tired of always seeming so…quizzical,” he teases right back. “This face just said ‘suit’ when I put it on.” Clearing his throat and looking at her, he mentally blanches when he realizes how close she is. She’s really quite small, he’s got at least a full foot on her were he to stand up properly.

“Wasn’t the _clothing_ that made you quizzical, lad,” she laughs, reaching out and **ruffling** his hair! She’s got that wicked grin on her face at his likely now visible discomfort before turning away, shifting to the side, pulling – is that fruit? from one of quite a few bags she sports. Blimey, there are five of them at least. One strapped to each thigh, smaller ones on her hips, one just above the swell of her derriere. He swallows and looks away. Still, he can hear her putting the fruit in her mouth, and she dares sit on the very edge of the roundel. At least she has the sense to be well away from any buttons.

“So,” she drawls, “fixing up your girl, going to see a friend, shall I get out of your hair and let you be on your way?”

He reaches his hands up, fixing his hair a bit, mostly just running his hands through it, “No, you don’t have to leave, not if you don’t want to.” A grin works its way onto his face, a sincere one. “It’s been a considerably long time since we last saw each other, and I always enjoy the company. It can be, well, rather lonely some days.” Cocking his head to the side, he watches her for a minute.

“Lonely, you?” She shakes her head a touch, curls swishing. He likes that sound, her hair against the brocade of her vest. “I don’t believe _that_ for a minute, doll. You’ve always got a tag along of some nature,” her wink is borderline salacious, and he clears his throat. He was _never_ inappropriate with his companions! Flirting, harmless. There had only been two that even approached… well. But she’s still talking, and he must focus on her to hear her. “You’d only be lonely if you were more like me, saving the pretty ones, giving them an adventure, of a lifetime, mind, and then dropping them off again.”

She’s staring off into the middle distance now, and he knows that look, he’s had it on his face more than once and rather recently. She’s remembering, hurting. Her eyes shift, green settling on him for a moment. He prompts another, mild change of topic. “Where are you off to next?”

“No shop talk,” she replies quickly. “Don’t know _why_ they give me such boring bloody jobs. I’m an infamous thief, I’ll take a heist any day in any time in any quadrant of the universe…” She huffs and pops another bit of fruit – is that a trumpberry? – and shields her mouth with her hand as she speaks. “Was just going to go, yeah, see something new.”

Finally, he cracks his defenses a touch, just a touch because here was a friend, and how long has it been since he had a friend who wouldn’t leave his life permanently? “Truth is, I haven’t had a companion in some time.” He shrugs, sighing, “too dangerous, this old life of mine.”

She is looking at him again, a flicker of worry in bright green eyes. The crack in his defenses seals up again. “But right, no shop talk, that’s fine. Tends to be rather boring anyway, you’re absolutely right. But why not just use the random coordinate generator? Always have fun then.”

“My boy, overprotective sod, disabled that protocol years ago. Thought I did too much galivanting and not enough work.” Her eyes roll, and a smirk touches her lips. “Now he’s just too lazy to re-establish the coding to make the circuits work.”

After a moment, she must think she’s rude, at least that’s what he imagines she must think because she offers up a few of her deep red crystalline berries to him. They are Trumpberries. He hasn’t seen them since… Forcing a smile, he shakes his head, refusing the berries.

“Well, we could go get drunk again, see if this body of yours can even handle drink and if mine can still drink you under the table.” It’s an idea that is all teasing friendliness, lulling him into nearly saying yes, no daring him to say no. “What’s the worst that could happen?”

“Ah, this body, I know, cannot handle drinking,” the answer is easy to give, though what comes next surprises him a bit. “It’s a bit weaker than previous incarnations, not sure why.” He misses the way his shrug has her eyes narrowing, he just keeps talking. “More than likely, what would happen is you’d end up dragging me back here completely unconscious.”

Pausing, the idea has a bit of merit. He could retract, say yes, might be a bit fun. He might finally sleep without nightmares. The sound of a berry popping between teeth makes him pay attention to her, and he notes her booted feet swinging idly.

“You’ve gone practically native, doll,” the jab is not unkind but hits him anyway. “Have you gone to the Healer? I bet he’d give you an immune-booster if you’re feeling that much weaker this time ‘round. Be teased to no end about it, yeah, but we don’t need our favorite rogue getting Venusian pox this late in life. Can you imagine?!” Her lips tug in genuine horror at the very idea of it.

“It’s not that serious,” he chuckles, ducking his head. “Besides, finding the Healer would be a hassle, and I’m not too sure I’ll be needing to keep this body in one piece for very much longer.” Oh, he hadn’t meant to say that. His teeth dig into the inside of his lip in self-reprimand.

He knows for sure he’s made a mistake when those green eyes of hers narrow quite seriously, and she stows her berries back in a pocket of her bags. She hops off the console and stalks back into his space. “What exactly does that mean?” Her hand whips from a different pocket of the bag above the one with food, and her sonic is out, prodding him with it.

He backs away, swatting it aside, tries to get out of her immediate reach. He shouldn’t have said that.

“Are you in trouble, did the pompous arses of the Council tag you _again_ for a forced regeneration? How long have you even had this body? It doesn’t look old enough for you to just need to regenerate.” Her eyes are on the sonic, and then they lift to pin him accusingly in place.

“I’m not – I’m not **old,** ” the words are shouted, and he steps farther away. “It’s just – something someone said to me recently. I’ve seen a lot with these eyes and what he said made sense, is all. I’m nearing the end of my song, as they say.” Sighing he leans back against the console again, full leaned over slouch. “And” he looks at her, long enough her eyes get a bit wider, a hint of worry and fear there again amongst the memories that shine from her. “And I think I’d be alright about it when it happens, whenever that will be.

**Author's Note:**

> Trumpberries are a real bit of Gallifreyan Flora, and I'll be working as many actual bits of canon flora into this as I'm able in future relevant scenes/chapters.


End file.
